


Warpaint

by Woodface



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash February
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 04:14:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3514964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woodface/pseuds/Woodface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Is this really necessary?" Clarke asks, fidgeting with the buckle of her shoulder guard. (Set somewhere between 2x14 and 2x15.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warpaint

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to JustShai for the beta.

"Is this really necessary?" Clarke asks, fidgeting with the buckle of her shoulder guard. Lexa reaches for her hand and gently guides it down to her side.

"You are a commander in your own right, Clarke," Lexa squeezes Clarke's hand, making certain she has her full attention, before she lets go. "My people need to see you as such."

Clarke shakes her head. "That was before. My mother is Chancellor now, the Council-"

"Neither will be present," Lexa says with finality. She scoops up some of the black coal from the bowl she is carrying in the palm of hand. "You will stand beside me. You will fight beside me. My people need to see this. They need to recognise the strength of this alliance. Now stand still."

It's all the warning she gives before she draws her fingers along Clarke's brow, slowly spreading the coal all the way to Clarke's hair. Clarke's silence is disconcerting, but Lexa ignores it. She scoops up some more of the coal, and Clarke closes her eyes as Lexa presses her fingers to the bridge of her nose. 

Lexa pauses for the briefest of moments, her touch lingering before she slowly draws a black line along Clarke's cheekbone and into her golden hair.

"Stay still," she warns, brushing her knuckle against Clarke's cheek before she carefully touches the girl's eyelids. She can feel the flutter underneath her fingertips as she carefully spreads the coal. If Lexa smiles when Clarke draws in a breath and forces herself to relax rather than squeeze her eyes shut, no one can see it.

It has been a long time since she applied the warpaint to someone else, but her fingers know the pattern well, and she repeats it a second time until Clarke's mask is nearly complete. 

"Almost there," she murmurs as she dips three fingers in the bowl. She presses them to Clarke's cheekbone, fingers splayed before she draws them slowly down Clarke's cheek. It's only when Lexa pulls her hand away, careful not to break the pattern, that Clarke opens her eyes again. 

Lexa forgets to move. 

All she sees is blue; the colour is deeper than she remembers, contrasted against the black coal. She's staring, but she does not stop as she swaps the bowl to her other hand. Clarke doesn't look away either, not even when Lexa presses her fingers to her other cheek. She drags them down slowly, but she has no excuse to prolong the touch as the pattern will smear if she does. 

"It is done."

The words seem to break Clarke from whatever trance she was in, and Lexa watches curiously as Clarke's eyes seem even darker when she steps closer. Lexa can feel the faint pressure as Clarke dips her fingers in the bowl and she holds her breath. She holds it still as Clarke brings her hand up and slowly drags her fingers down the lines Lexa already has running down her cheeks.

The fingers stay there, and Lexa is certain she will have to redo the warpaint, but she doesn't admonish Clarke. Not when Clarke leans up and presses her mouth against Lexa's in the gentlest of kisses.

"It is done," Clarke agrees when she draws back. There is no regret or apology in her blue eyes, and Lexa knows she will wear this kiss in battle as she does her warpaint.


End file.
